Death Loves a Messy Desk Read Online Free PDF Page A

eyes at me. I’d never seen that before.
    “Very funny. I’m busy with planning the bike race. You know that. We have lots to do. Race weekend’s creeping up on us. The future of WAG’D depends on it. They need support.”
    As long as Jack Reilly was breathing, WAG’D would never lack support.
    I said, “I know what a great cause this is, and I’d really like to help you with the race.”
    “Um, right. I do have to go. Thanks for the lunch. And, Charlotte? Please don’t touch anything on the desk. Drop the spare key off at my place.” A playful punch on the arm and he was halfway out the door.
    “Wait a minute. I’m volunteering to help you with the race, Jack. And not for the first time.”
    “Um.”
    “What do you mean, um ?”
    Jack swallowed and paused, his hand on the front door. “You know.”
    “I don’t know.”
    “Yeah, you do.”
    It’s possible that I stamped my pink-and-red wedge heels at this point. “I do not. But one thing I do know is that people who are almost finished with their Ph.D. in philosophy should be able to express themselves better and not take refuge behind an um . That’s what I think.”
    “Okay, fine. Bossy.”
    “What?”
    “Are you aware that when you get your teeth into other people’s business, you can be just the tiniest bit . . . ?”
    “Helpful. I am a helpful person. I am not bossy. I make an effort not to be bossy. My job depends on it.”
    “Well, under some circumstances, you can be a bit too intensely helpful. It gets on some people’s nerves. As your friend, I’m just saying.”
    “That’s not true.” I sniffed.
    He shrugged.
    “Whose nerves?”
    “Don’t push it, Charlotte. Just take the hint.”
    “That’s not a hint. It’s a kick in the backside.”
    “Sorry. Honest. But right now at this stage, there’s really nothing I can do about it. I’ve suggested that you help, and some people told me why that wouldn’t work. I’m used to you and I like you just the way you are, but maybe you should give some thought to how you are with other people.”
    “What people?”
    “No people in particular, just people in general.”
    “People in general like me just fine.”
    “Okay,” he said. “Later.”
    Jack was not just my friend; he’d been my best friend since we were kids. We shared banter and ice cream and even separate floors in his house. We shared dogs and jokes and political opinions. We shared so much of our lives. Something was happening to change that. This past month, I’d hardly seen him.
    He fastened his helmet and wheeled his custom racing bike out the door. With one fluid movement he was on the road. As I watched, another long lean cyclist pulled up beside him, waved, and pulled out ahead of him, laughing.
    Female, unless I was mistaken.
    Alpha, apparently.
    “Well, I never got on your nerves before,” I protested to the empty shop. I made a superhuman effort not to reach out and straighten up the random stacks of receipts, chewing gum wrappers, empty coffee cups, orders, and catalogs piled in front of Jack’s empty cash box.
    Exactly which people was Jack listening to?

    Woodbridge has a lot to recommend it, including being nestled in the Hudson Valley. The roads are good and swoop through lushly wooded areas. Despite the threat of rain, it was a lovely early fall day with the subtle switch to September gold in the trees. But I wasn’t really watching as I drove out to meet Fredelle. I tried to adjust my thoughts from Jack’s weird behavior to Fredelle’s messy-desk problem.
    It’s always important to concentrate on the client you’re meeting. You have to be totally present or you can miss a lot of cues and anxieties. Who knows why I was still stewing about Jack as I steered my Miata off Valley Drive and onto the long driveway leading to the Quovadicon head-quarters. The two lanes were separated by a manicured median, with low concrete planters set into the grass at intervals. The war hero had invested heavily in